


Cat's in the Cradle

by Lyl



Series: Denver Magic [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Crossover, Gen, Long Lost/Secret Relatives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-07-22
Updated: 2010-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-10 17:58:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyl/pseuds/Lyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Willow doesn't go to England with Giles, but somewhere else... Crossover with a Magnificent Seven AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mourning Comes Softly

**Author's Note:**

> Please note, this was mostly written years ago - the original published date according to tth.org is Feb 2004. This is the first thing I wrote when coming back to fanfic, so it's nowhere near the standard I set for my stories nowadays (whether I meet that standard or not is up for debate.) This means there are parts that make me cringe, but I'm too lazy to go back and re-write. It also means I probably won't be going back to finish this. Sorry.

Willow didn’t think the tears would ever stop.

Great wracking sobs that tore through her body like a garden hose through tissue. Her throat hurt, her eyes were puffy and her nose refused to stop running. She could feel the tight skin of her face, evidence of previous tears, hours old.

And with every sob, the black bands of misery seemed to tighten even more around her heart. The hair framing her red and swollen face was wet and stringy with her ever-present tears.

Shouldn’t there be a point where her body would no longer be able to produce the rivers of saline that was drowning her and her human ‘pillow’? But every time the witch considered stopping, the memories of why she was crying in the first place returned.

Her Tara was dead. Her love.

She would never hear that throaty laugh again - the one kept for private jokes between them. No more waking up to a sweet good morning kiss. No more walking into a room and smelling the flowery scent that belonged to Tara, and Tara alone. No more goofy grins on Willow’s face when she found an impossibly long strand of blonde hair on her clothes, hours after seeing her last. No more looking into a pair of soft and loving eyes, and knowing that whatever else she might be, she was simply beautiful to Tara.

No more kisses. No more secret glances. No more accidental brushes of their hands. No more not-so-accidental brushes. No more laughter . . . smiles . . . touches . . . secret sunrises . . .

No more love.

But most importantly . . .

No more Tara.

No one to stop her nervous babbling with simply a touch and a look. No one to nod and smile encouragingly during her excited babbling. No one to share her love of magic with - or say a word of caution when she attempted new spells.

No one to pull her back when she went too far - as was demonstrated earlier.

After Tara had broken up with her, Willow had felt miserable and depressed, but nothing like this - even _with_ the withdrawal. Then, she had still been able to see Tara, know she was OK, and one day - hopefully - return to her. Not so this time. Tara wasn’t coming back, despite her best efforts.

Ever.

Another sob tore through her tired body, but still Willow couldn’t seem to stop. The hand that had been carding slowly through her hair, gradually increased in frequency with her new bout of sobbing.

Xander.

He hadn’t left her. He’d picked her up in his arms and carried her back to Buffy’s house. Her big, strong, carpenter-of-a-best friend had carried her like a child, and she’d never felt safer.

He’d been right with her the entire time, her head in his lap, letting her soak his jeans with her never-ending tears while running a hand through her damp red hair. He hadn’t said a word since the cliff, and neither had she. He’d simply lain her on the sofa and been her tower - or pillow - of strength as she poured out her grief.

“Mrww.”

Opening her red-rimmed eyes, Willow came nose to nose with the only other creature to love Tara as much as she had.

Large green feline eyes stared into teary human ones, looking for something in particular.

“Hey, Miss Kitty.” she whispered, though the words came out more as a rasp after hours of crying.

“Mrow?” the feline seemed to ask, neither blinking to break the shared stare.

“Sh-...she’s g-“Willow tried to tell the cat, but the words wouldn’t seem to leave her. Saying the words made everything so much more real, not just some horrible nightmare. Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, Willow forced the words out.

“Tara’s dead. She’s not coming back.” The last was for her own benefit, re-enforcing the harsh reality of Tara’s death. But it still didn’t feel quite real. She felt like she was free-floating in time, not really connected with actual events. Willow knew she wasn’t dreaming - knew that it was all too real - but that didn’t stop the sense of unreality she’d been feeling since Tara had dropped to the bedroom floor. She felt detached, like she was watching a TV show, too engrossed to pull away.

Willow was abruptly pulled out of her depressing thoughts by a sudden movement on the couch, followed quickly by a slight jolt from her pillow. Opening her eyes, she saw that Miss Kitty had climbed onto the sofa - via Xander’s jean-clad legs - and was currently making herself comfortable against Willow’s chest, her soft fur tickling the witch’s chin.

“Sorry, Wills.” Xander apologized softly. “Cat has sharp claws.” he said by way of explanation.

Moving a hand to slowly stroke Miss Kitty’s soft fur, Willow felt the feline begin to vibrate.

“Rrrrrr. Rrrrrrr.”

And Willow’s tears dried up.

“Wills?” Xander asked softly, wanting to make sure his friend was still with him. Looking down, a small smile graced his features as he saw the small curve to her lips. “Is that a smile I see?” he teased, continuing to run a hand through her hair.

“I was just remembering...” she trailed off, as if unwilling to share a precious memory. “She’s so much like Tara.” Willow stated, continuously petting the purring fur ball that had curled up against her.

“Tara could sense my mood almost instantly. She knew when to leave me alone, and when not to.” Willow paused, savouring her cherished memories of the girl she had loved to distraction. “She knew the exact moment when a cuddle could make even the worst problems seem silly and far away.”

Xander said nothing, but continued to comfort his oldest and closest friend. They had both done this same thing after Jesse died - re-living the cherished memories they had of their friend.

“We were going to get another cat.” Willow told him, breaking the silence. “A kitty friend for Miss Kitty.” she clarified. “I asked Tara if we should get a girl kitty, because - hello - she was _our_ cat and all; maybe she was gay too and that’s why she liked us so much. Tara said that a boy cat is what Miss Kitty wanted. I asked her if she was sure, and she got her ‘secret’ smile. You know, that smile she always got when she knew the answer to some silly thing I’d wondered about. Tara said that Miss Kitty was definitely a straight Kitty - like she was totally sure of the answer.

“Miss Kitty was always Tara’s cat, more than mine. They took to each other right away.”

More silence followed as they both relived their best memories of the blonde witch.

“A gay cat, Willow?” Xander teased, the smile evident in his voice.

Willow remained silent as the stroking of his hand and the purring of Miss Kitty Fantastico continued, lulling her into sleep with a small, sad smile on her face.


	2. Pieces Kept

_Wake up, Willow._

“-can’t remain here, Buffy.” Willow woke to hear Giles saying.

“Giles-“

“She cannot remain untutored in magic.” The watcher interrupted. Willow could feel the Slayer’s stubborn pout form behind closed eyes. Buffy didn’t like anyone telling her what she could and couldn’t do - even Giles. Though him she listened to more than others, before going her own way. “The amount of black magic she absorbed, even trained witches with a full coven to back them up, they rarely come out of it alive, or even sane.” Giles continued, unaware that his audience had just increased by one. “With her previous addiction to those same dark magics, it will be even harder for her to resist the power now inside of her.”

“But England?” she heard Buffy question, slightly unsure but sounding almost convinced that her old Watcher was right.

“They are one of the more powerful covens, Buffy, and they are willing to help.” Giles answered the blonde. Willow could hear it in Giles voice as he spoke - he was determined to bring her back to England. Tired, but determined.

“Why can’t you just teach her here? Bring the whole coven?” Buffy suggested. Willow could hear her getting more excited the more she spoke. “It could be a group outing. You know, ‘See the Hellmouth - Cure the witch’. I mean, how long could it take?”

There was complete silence for a moment before Giles could bring himself to speak again - at least, that was Willow’s theory when she heard how aghast he sounded when he finally regained the power of speech.

“Buffy. You cannot simply ‘move’ a coven, especially across half the planet! The travel plans and arrangements necessary for every member, their significant other, family members and familiars, alone, are almost incomprehensible. Needless to say the sheer quantity of supplies they would need to bring, and any travelling requires precise timing of lunar cycles and earth rotations, as well as making sure to avoid magical ‘hot spots’ while finding adequate housing where the ley lines happen to intersect-“

“All right! All right!” Buffy interrupted, sounding as overwhelmed as Willow felt. The witch had never been privy to the coven structure before - UC Sunnydale Wicca Group excluded - so this was all new to her. Well, for the most part. Just because neither Giles, Jenny Calendar nor Tara had ever brought it up, didn’t mean that Willow didn’t know about the basics of a coven. In fact, none of them knew just how far into her studies she’d gotten - before her addiction and without their help.

“The ideal solution is for Willow to return to England with me.” Giles told Buffy, being as gentle as he could. “To be some place _other_ than the Hellmouth.”

“Why don’t you tell them the real reason you want her across the ocean, Giles?!” came a slightly hysterical and panicked voice.

Willow’s eyes snapped open at that, taking in Anya as she confronted the slightly annoyed Watcher and confused Slayer.

“What’s she talking about, Giles?” asked Buffy, turning her whole body to face her old Watcher.

“Tell them about how Little Miss ‘Let’s Destroy the World’ sent out a magical call through the supernatural community on two continents and three different planes of existence!” Anya’s shrill voice rose with every word. “Tell them how every being bent on world destruction or domination will be heading straight for this little slice of Hell! Or maybe just mention the hundreds of bounty hunters bound to show up soon, so they can be the one to claim the head of the ‘Dark Witch’!”

The entire room listened in horror, imagining what any one of those people could do to Willow if they ever got their hands on her.

“Is that true?” asked Xander, speaking up for the first time.

Reluctantly, Giles nodded.

“Will she be any safer in England?” was his next question, causing Willow to smile inwardly. Everyone was worried about her becoming a weapon against them, but Xander was worried about _her_. His best friend.

“The coven will protect her as best they can, until she can protect herself without falling into the dark arts again.” Giles replied after a moment.

But it was a moment too long for Willow. Her actions were continuing to put people in danger. First, her friends, and now this coven of witches she’d never even heard of before today.

However, she didn’t see any viable alternative.

“It’s a yes or no question, Giles!” Xander pushed, coming to the same conclusion Willow had - if someone more powerful came after Willow, the coven may not be able to protect her.

“I’ll go.” The words left her mouth before she had consciously thought them. She wouldn’t put her friends in danger, but she also wouldn’t put people she’d never met before in danger, either. At the first sign that the coven was in trouble because of her, she would leave. No one else would die because of what she’d done.

“Wills. You don’t have to go. We’ll deal with whatever-“

“I’ll go pack.” Willow interrupted Buffy. Any more well-intentioned pleas to stay from her friends, and she would - damn the consequences. “When do we leave?” she asked Giles, rising from her position on Xander’s lap.

“The flight leaves at 8:45 a.m., tomorrow. We should be there for 7:00 a.m. at the latest.” Giles informed her, his face devoid of all thoughts.

“Ok. Goodnight.” was said over her shoulder as she strode from the room, leaving silence behind her.


	3. Voices in My Head

Once in her bedroom, Willow sat on the edge of the bed, willing her tears not to spill.

The room still smelled of Tara - of her life, not her death.

Maybe she shouldn’t have come alone, but she didn’t want any comforting or pitying gestures. Willow just wanted to bask in her memories - relive her memories of Tara, alive and smiling, not dead . . .

Looking to the floor, where her lover had fallen, Willow was amazed that there wasn’t anything to suggest that anyone had died. The police and other officials had come and gone already, apparently cleaning up before they left. Glancing at the window that still held a small hole, surrounded by a star burst of cracks, Willow mused that not everything had been removed.

Her gaze went back and forth between the ‘SPOT’ and the window, again and again. Back and forth. Floor to window to floor to window to floor . . .

Turning abruptly, she threw herself face down into the pillow so no one would hear her as the tears started to fall again. The almost soundless tears turned into agonizing, gut-wrenching sobs as she was enveloped by the same scent that permeated the room.

Tara’s pillow. The same pillow she’d lain her blonde head upon less than 48 hours ago.

As her tears continued to soak the pillow, Willow couldn’t help but think that it should have been her, instead. If Tara had been the one to live, she never would have gone mad with the magics as Willow had. There would be no demons, power hungry witches or determined bounty hunters about to descend upon the Hellmouth.

It would all be better.

_Stop that line of thinking immediately, Willow Anne!_ The order popped into her head before she could go any further, startling her out of her crying and self-flagellation.

_Go away!_ She told the familiar presence, not in the frame of mind to deal with him at the moment. _Just leave me ALONE!_ Willow reiterated, not really wanting the comforting presence gone, but not willing to hear how she had screwed up - again - from the only person whose opinion mattered more than Giles’.

_We all make mistakes, Willow._ he stated. _And do you really think I’m in any position to tell you what a mess you’ve made? Pot and kettle, Willow._ she was reminded.

_What are you doing in my head?_ She asked after a moment of silence. They had often talked this way, but not for a while now. It couldn’t be a coincidence that he sought her out after months of silence, especially given what Anya had said earlier.

_The Watcher’s right. You can’t stay in Sunnydale._

_I’m going to England with Giles._ Willow told him in a quiet tone, ignoring that he’d been in her head long before she became aware of him. She didn’t really want to head across the Atlantic, but didn’t see any viable alternatives that didn’t involve putting those she loved in danger.

_Come to Denver._ came the offer, stated simply and concisely. That was the way he was. Demand or order, and then if someone didn’t comply he would either stare them into submission, using what Willow had dubbed ‘the GLARE’, or argue with them until they gave in. However, early on he’d discovered that neither route seemed to work on the red head. She’d counter his GLARE with her RESOLVE FACE, or argue with him using a twisted logic that left him reeling and unsure of when he’d lost control of the conversation.

Since Glaring was out, the alternate route was going to be used, and this time he was determined to win.

_There’s a coven in England that can help me learn control._ Willow was desperate to learn to control this new power, to not be looked at like she was going to go ‘Destructo Girl’ at any moment - again. Buffy’s words from earlier came back to her, constantly repeating in her head - ‘Cure the witch’. Like she was sick and just needed to relax and drink plenty of fluids, and she would be all better. Back to normal.

But before she could even think about controlling her magic, she needed to control her emotions. How long would it take before they started demanding she get over it? She’d been given three weeks to get over Oz, would they allow another week or two because Tara had died and they’d been together longer? Would the coven in England be any different?

_There’s a coven in Denver that will be more than happy to help._ he countered. _And if you ever tell them I called them that, you’ll live to regret it._ his deep voice warned her, using a tone that sent shivers down the spines of demons and master vampires alike.

_Pfffft._

_Why is it you never take my threats seriously?_ he asked with a sigh of resignation. _Everyone else does._

_Because you’d rather die than hurt me._ It was the one thing she had never doubted since she was eight.

_I’d take on the world for you, Willow._

Tears glistened in her eyes, the first outward sign of the conversation going on within. However, for the first time today, they weren’t shed out of sadness.

_Come to Denver._ he repeated.

_I don’t want to put you in any danger._ Willow told him, Anya’s words still echoing in her ears. Demons, vampires, black witches and bounty hunters, all following her wherever she went. The full weight of that little tidbit had yet to fully sink in yet, but when it did Willow was sure that it would be followed immediately by a panic attack of epic proportions, combined with new levels of ‘terrifying’.

_Denver is the safest place for you._

_Giles really wants me to go with him._ Willow vainly tried to find a good enough reason to refuse, but was coming up short - and was quickly losing the will to try.

_I want you with me._

_I miss you._ he said after a pause. In a softer tone, he pressed on before she could say anything else. _I want to spend time with you - to teach you properly, like I was taught - and I want to get to know you better._

_Giles wants to leave in the morning; the tickets are booked and everything._ she told him, wanting desperately to accept his offer, but still wary of disappointing the English Watcher or her friends - friends who all had a cautious look in their eyes, as if waiting for her to suck them all into hell.

_But is that what you want?_ he asked gently.

_Denver._ Willow finally said, feeling like she was betraying her friends with a single word and thought. _I want to go to Denver._

Despite what Giles thought, she knew Denver was the safest place on Earth for her. She remembered the last time she was there - when her powers were just starting to emerge - the city and surrounding areas felt like a big, fuzzy blanket that screamed ‘safe’.

_You haven’t been back in more than two years._ he reminded her gently.

It was true, she realized. She’d been there every summer since she was eight years old, but had missed the last year to stay and protect the Hellmouth that was without a Slayer.

_Barney misses you, too._ he told her, speaking of the large husky he called his pet - though it was debatable who was the master. _So does your damn horse._ was added grudgingly, his distaste for the animal palpable.

Willow missed her beloved horse, too - a gift from him the summer she was sixteen.

_I’ll come to Denver, if you say her name._ she unashamedly blackmailed. Both knew that her decision was already made, but he still put up a token protest.

_No._

_Please?_ she pleaded, a smile teasing across her lips. _I’m making a pouty face._ Willow warned him.

_Not enough whiskey in the world._

_... and here come the puppy dog eyes . . . _

_Nice try, but ‘no’._

_Do I really need to bat my eyes, too?_

_All right! All right! Cookie Crumbles! Are you happy now?_ he grouched, breaking under the pitiful onslaught, as he always did. Silently he wondered how she managed to come up with silly names for the animals around her. If he hadn’t fought tooth and nail, his dog would have been called Rocky Road Racer.

A giggle was his only reply, making his discomfort worthwhile.

_I’ll meet you at the airport in the morning._

_But, how will you know - _

_Trust me, Willow._ cutting her off before she could get a good ‘babble’ going. _I’ll find you, and I’ll have one of the boys with me._

_Okay._ she agreed quietly, though there was no need for her assent. She was actually glad that he was taking charge. It was nice to let someone else take care of everything for a change.

_Don’t worry about packing. Bring your laptop and the cat; anything else you need we can get once you’re here. Now get some sleep - let me worry about everything else._

_Okay._ she repeated sleepily, his commanding presence enough to relax her even now.

_Night, Daddy._

_Goodnight, darling girl._

A smile graced her face as the witch fell asleep, comforted in the fact that her father could - and would - make everything all right.


	4. Dynasty

Chris Larabee blinked unseeing eyes as he reluctantly let go of the connection to his only child. He always felt disoriented and bereft when he let go of the link that connected them - almost unnatural.

Closing his eyes briefly, he let his heart mourn for his daughter’s lover, lost far too young.

Just like his own family.

Chris knew the pain Willow was going through all too well.

Sighing as he rose, the blonde moved from the sofa he had lain down on earlier, stopping in front of the large pane of glass that took the place of a wall. At twelve floors, the Dynasty hotel dwarfed the rest of Denver, giving him an unobstructed view of the city.

His city.

He didn’t know how it had happened, but after the death of his wife, Sarah, and son, Adam, he had managed to control and hold the city. A city which was quickly becoming known as a safe haven for those supernatural beings who simply wanted to live a normal life, without the fear of discovery. What had begun as a burning, all-consuming desire for revenge against the one who had killed his wife and son, had turned into something unexpected, with the help of six amazing men. None of it had been his intention, Chris had merely gone after a murderer, which resulted in a power vacuum in the city. Somehow, with the addition of each man into his circle of close confidants, the seven of them had become the new power base in the Denver demon community - the Guardians, each born with the gift of magic. Though most of them wouldn’t admit it, they were all pleased, as well as slightly annoyed with the gossip and rumours that had labelled them as the ‘Magnificent Seven’ throughout the demon world. It had only been recently that Chris had relented and officially taken the position as the Head of the City.

Now demons all over the country knew that Denver was protected by the Seven.

Thinking of the six men he affectionately referred to as his ‘boys’, made the black clad man remember that he was heading for a Hellmouth, and wanted someone to watch his back. He ran through the list in his head, trying to figure out which of his men would be the best.

Buck Wilmington would normally have been at the top of the list, and while his oldest friend fit ‘Tall, Dark and Handsome’ to perfection, he didn’t think the womaniser was the best to have around Willow at the moment. Though Buck had stayed by his side throughout his own period of black mourning and self-destructive tendencies, he wouldn’t be the best at comforting a grieving Willow. While he was the only one of the Seven to actually know about Willow - had even met her on occasion over the years - the loud, boisterous rogue had always made Willow slightly uncomfortable. Despite the many traits she had inherited from him, the ability to deal with the moustached scoundrel was not one of them. The red head had always been quiet and unsure of herself around Buck, and didn’t need that at the present time.

Josiah Sanchez would be his next logical choice, as the older man was a born listener. The big man was a full-grown teddy bear - except when he lost his temper, and then even Chris ran for cover. However, Chris knew Willow had some slight fear of being ‘loomed’ over, which the ex-Preacher would unconsciously do. Josiah also had a defined line between grey and black - though he suspected even Josiah didn’t know where it lay. Until he knew how much Willow had delved into the dark arts, he didn’t want to find out exactly where that line was.

There was a similar problem with Nathan Jackson. The black healer held very defined beliefs when it came to black magic, and Chris didn’t want to make Nathan choose between his beliefs and Chris. He planned to be at Willow’s side, no matter how far she had fallen. Though he suspected Nathan and Josiah wouldn’t raise much of a fuss, especially once Willow dried out from the black magic she’d absorbed.

Even through their brief contact, Chris could feel the dark power surging through the link. It was all he could do to remain fixed on the conversation, and not simply bask in the familiar waves of dark energy. He hadn’t lied when he’d told Willow that he couldn’t condemn her, especially for doing what he himself had done when his family had been taken from him. Chris knew the agony of losing those you loved to death, as well as the rage when nothing you did could fix it. He also knew the sweet taste of revenge against the ones that caused those deaths. That was something the others couldn’t claim.

JD Dunne was one that wouldn’t even understand the desperate need to taste vengeance against the one who had taken those closest to you. While the young man had lost his mother, it was to natural causes rather than malicious intent - if you could call slowly dying as your body turned on itself, natural causes. Chris didn’t have any doubts that though Willow would become good friends with the youngest of the Seven, now was not the time to introduce them. Despite everything that had happened in his life, JD was incapable of being anything other than a bright, shining ray of light in their lives.

For the other six hardened men, it was an annoyance at times, but none of them would change him for the world.

Despite what Ezra may claim.

The green-eyed con man would be an ideal candidate as a travel companion, and would no doubt be able to bring Willow out of her depressed state - if only for a short while. Unfortunately, there was not enough money or coffee in the hemisphere to get Ezra Standish up and out of bed at the time necessary to arrive in Sunnydale at the designated time. The consummate night owl would make the trip to California a living hell for Chris - something he had no desire to deal with currently.

That left the blue-eyed Texan, Vin Tanner. The ex-bounty hunter had been a calm, soothing balm to his tortured soul from the moment their eyes had met. The man would follow Chris into Hell itself without a single word of complaint, just to make sure he came out alive - a gesture which would be reciprocated with the same unquestioning loyalty. The younger man would watch both his and Willow’s back while they were on the Mouth of Hell, and ask questions later.

His decision made, Chris strode across the penthouse apartment of the Dynasty, hopping on the private elevator and headed for the bar in the basement of the hotel.

The Saloon, as someone had first named it, was one of the main gathering places for the supernatural community in Denver. It was also where he had left the boys hours earlier when Willow’s pain and anguish had ripped through him like he was tissue paper. He knew the others had felt a slight ripple through the bond that connected them all, but nothing as strong as what Chris had felt. The wave of dark magic that had swept across the senses of every magical being in the hemisphere some time later, guaranteed that they would still be in the Saloon, hours afterwards.

Stepping through the back door, Chris immediately felt a level of tension he hadn’t felt since he’d made his first appearance after Sarah and Adam died, and he’d gone out of control. Some of the demons who had been here back then had felt the familiarity of the situation, but instinctively knew that he hadn’t been behind it. Still, that level of power had everyone tense and worried.

Making his way through the bar to the table occupied by the other men, he was met with a variety of worried looks. Even Ezra looked mildly concerned, though to anyone else the green-eyed Southerner merely looked bored as he shuffled his ever-present deck of cards.

“Chris?” asked a frowning Buck, the others remaining silent.

Ignoring the question in Buck’s voice, Chris turned his attention to the Southerner.

“I need the plane fuelled and ready as soon as can be arranged.” he told Ezra. The man was in charge of finances, in fact owned the Dynasty, while Chris’ money was invested in a variety of clubs and restaurants geared towards the demons in his city. At the moment, he needed the use of the jet they all shared, and Ezra was the one in charge of that.

“Goin’ somewhere, Cowboy?” drawled a smooth voice.

“Yeah.” he replied, looking at the owner of the voice, one of two people who could call him a ‘cowboy’ and live. “Sunnydale. You’re coming with me.” A lone brow rose in question, but nothing was said at the seriousness of the situation was felt.

“Is this what I think it is?” asked Buck, the only one who knew _why_ Sunnydale.

A quick flicker in the green eyes told Buck more than any words could.

“I want you boys to steer clear of the ranch for a few weeks.” Chris told them, garnering more than a few raised eyebrows around the table.

“Will you require the use of the jet for long, Mr. Larabee?” queried Ezra, his eyes meeting Chris’, as the cards kept up their flawless movements.

“Should be back by tomorrow afternoon.” he told the con man. “Quick turnaround.”

“Do you need our help with anything, Brother?” intoned Josiah, his deep baritone rumbling across the table.

“Just need time and space, Preacher.” he told the not-quite holy man. Though Josiah had all the teachings of a priest, the older man was as far removed from a man of the cloth, as Buck was from the term ‘monogamous relationship’. Josiah said it was due to a calling from the Goddess, and an inability to turn the other cheek. Which was as good a reason as any for Chris, especially since the big man would have been burned at the stake by certain factions of the Catholic Church for his natural way with magic.

“Pack for the unexpected. I’ll meet you at the airport.” Chris told Vin, nodding a farewell to the others and striding out of the bar, his black duster flapping it’s own farewell.


	5. Boys and Bars

“Something I should know ‘bout Sunnydale, Buck?” Vin asked, noticing the rogue’s uneasy expression.

“Sunnydale, California.” began Buck, pausing to down half the whiskey sitting in front of him. “Home of the highest death rate per capita in the US, more cemeteries and abandoned churches than you can shake a stick at, and the strangest damn demon community I’ve ever seen. And let’s not forget, home to one of two Hellmouths in the continental US.”

“Ah, shit!” cursed Vin, already mentally doubling the number of weapons he was planning on ‘packing’ for this little trip. He’d come across a Hellmouth in South America once, while he’d been travelling with a tribe of Koresh demons. The vibes that thing had put out had warped every type of energy within a fifty-mile radius. The bounty hunter wasn’t looking forward to being around another one.

“What’s a Hellmouth?” asked JD, not quite sure if he really wanted to know.

“It’s a doorway. Literally the ‘Mouth of Hell’.” Nathan explained, speaking up for the first time. While the healer had never been near one, he’d heard enough about them from the patients he saw. Running the only ‘demon-friendly’ clinic in the city guaranteed him patients and information, even though most of that came from his receptionist, Sally Ann.

“It is a decidedly unpleasant locale to visit, Mr. Dunne.” added Ezra, sharing a look with Vin. Both had been to an area with a Hellmouth, and had none-too-pleasant experiences to show for it.

Seeing that the young man still didn’t understand the dangers, Josiah expanded on the healer’s explanation.

“A Hellmouth is a metaphysical doorway into Hell.” he explained. “The dark energies and pure evil found there leak through the doorway, sending out a call - like a bright, shining beacon in a dark room. As a result, all energies - including magical - are distorted.”

“He means nothing works like it should.” clarified Buck, still staring at the last of the amber liquid in his glass before downing it as well. “You can’t trust the simplest spell to go the way it should.”

“Though vampires seem to be the predominant species, various demons also seek out the Hellmouth to attempt to either open the doorway or harness the raw mystical energy that constantly seeps through.” added Ezra.

“Doesn’t anyone stop them?” JD asked, eyes wide with amazement. “I mean, someone had to have stopped them, or we wouldn’t be here, right?”

“Correctly so, Mr Dunne.” Ezra replied. “I believe the Hellmouth in Sunnydale boasts a Slayer as guardian, while the one in Cleveland has a clan of Qui’ria’K demons preventing any ill use.”

“How the hell did a Qui’ria’K demon - let alone a clan of them - become guardians of the Cleveland Hellmouth?” exclaimed Nathan, more than shocked and bewildered by what the Southerner had said. “They don’t do anything without a good reason, and usually it’s for their own personal gain! Just like you, Ezra!”

“I believe a life debt was called in, after a particularly dangerous attempt to open the Hellmouth.” He answered, ignoring Nathan’s backhanded insult. “Or so the rumours say.”

“So why is Chris going to Sunnydale, if a Hellmouth is so bad?” asked JD, trying to delay the inevitable argument between Ezra and Nathan. He wanted answers before those two went at each other, despite the complete lack of malice between them. While the two had started off on the wrong foot, they were now as close as the rest of the groups; though both would rather die than admit it.

“What else is in Sunnydale?” he persisted, unwilling to take silence as an answer, especially if two of his friends were heading into potential trouble. “Does it have anything to do with that wave of dark magic we felt earlier?”

“JD! Let it rest, boy!” Buck snapped, irritated that he was worried, and worried about what his oldest friend might find in Sunnydale.

Silence fell around the table at Buck’s harsh words to the now-red faced young man.

“Still, I would like to know what has two of our Brothers headed for Sunnydale.” commented Josiah in a conversational tone, eyes completely focussed on Buck, a reprimand clear in his gaze.

Sighing in defeat, Buck looked at JD as he gave the only answer he was willing to. “The only thing that kept Chris sane and in one piece after Sarah and Adam died.”

Looking up at the newest arrival through the street entrance, what could only be described as a ‘panicked’ look crossed Buck’s face as he hastily added, “And that’s all I’m willing to tell you.”

“Night, fellas!” he called over his shoulder as he hotfooted it out of the bar through the back entrance.

Calling after Buck did JD no good, the door was already swinging shut behind him. Turning to see what had made the tall man flee, JD suddenly felt a very similar desire to leave as quickly as possible.

Noting JD’s panicked look, the other men followed his gaze and suddenly found more pressing errands to run.

“Gotta get packin’.” said Vin, hastily following Buck out the back entrance.

“Edwards needs to be informed of this evening’s upcoming flight.” added Ezra, pushing away from the table while reaching for his phone. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

“Now hold up, Ezra!” called Nathan after the Southerner, determine to get some answers from the slippery man. “What did you do in Cleveland?”

“I’m sure I do not know to what you are referring, Mr. Jackson.” Ezra replied, with all the smarm of a used car salesman.

“You deal in fact, Ez - not rumour.” the healer replied as he followed the other man out of the bar.

“Please desist in that obnoxious appellation! My name is E-z-r-a, use it correctly!” came the beginning of a long-suffering argument in the wake of their exit.

Seeing that the reason for the mass exodus was almost upon him, JD shook off his frozen status and simply bolted for the door, stammering a lame excuse as he went.

“Well, I certainly can clear a room, can’t I, Josiah?” asked Mary Travis of the only man left.

“Indeed.” He replied, wishing he’d been quicker and joined the others.

“Well, that just gives us more time to talk.” The blonde pseudo-reporter/store owner smiled sweetly as she sat down. “You wouldn’t happen to know what had the customers of my store heading for higher ground, would you?”

Another round of dodging questions and giving half-answers to the woman who didn’t know it was better to leave well enough alone.

Ezra was always better at this than he was, Josiah mused. The con man was the only one known to leave Mary Travis more confused than when she started. It was truly a sight to see.

“Josiah? Are you listening to me?”

He reached for the leftover bottle of whiskey, and tried to decide whether he needed a glass or to drink straight from the bottle.

“Pay attention and tell me what’s going on!”

No glass!


	6. History Raises

“You gonna tell me why we’re headed for a Hellmouth, Cowboy?” Vin asked. They were the first words he’d spoken since they’d met at the airport in Denver. Chris had been very intense and dark since the start, and Vin knew enough to leave the man to his thoughts. However, seeing as they were merely minutes from landing he decided that it was now or never.

Chris’ eyes flew up to meet Vin’s calm gaze, and the bounty hunter knew he’d drawn Chris out of something important. The man had been seated in the same place since takeoff, eyes closed as if asleep, but the warm waves of power washing through the cabin told him differently. Chris was concentrating on something very hard, and though Vin normally wouldn’t question his friend, he felt in need of some information.

Glancing out the window, Chris realized it had been dark the last time he looked. It was now past dawn.

“We close?” he asked Vin, his gaze swinging back to be met by piercing blue eyes.

“‘Bout to land.”

Silence followed, as Chris tried to sort through everything he knew.

“That wave of magic that about knocked half of Denver on its ass?” Chris began, not really needing an answer - everyone had felt it. “It was caused by a witch who was trying to destroy us all.”

“All?”

“Everyone on the planet.” confirmed Chris.

“_One_ witch?” A raised brow accompanying the question.

“Only one.” Which made Vin all the more uncomfortable. Most covens couldn’t hope to generate that much power.

“Who is she?” he asked, knowing they weren’t hunting this witch - more of the boys would have come if that were the case. That, and Buck’s words still echoed in his head. _‘The only thing that kept Chris sane and in one piece after Sarah and Adam died.’_

“My daughter.”

Two raised brows were the only outward sign of surprise Vin showed. “Didn’t think you’d be up for anymore kids after what happened.” Referring to the devastating deaths of his wife and son.

“She’s older.”

_‘Before Sarah’_ was left unsaid.

“I didn’t know about her ‘till she was eight, and by then her mother was married and didn’t want her husband to know. Sheila told him I’d died, and Willow didn’t know the difference. I kept pushing to be allowed to spend time with her; threatened to go to court before she relented. After that, Willow spent a few weeks every summer at the ranch. Sheila told everyone Willow was at her grandmother’s.”

“Sheila?”

“High school girlfriend. We broke up before she knew she was pregnant, and didn’t tell me.” the anger and resentment still evident in his voice.

“She’s powerful.” Vin remarked. The pulse of magic felt in Denver had been intense - he could only imagine what people in Sunnydale had felt.

“She doesn’t have much control, either.” added Chris, silently cursing Sheila for never telling him about Willow. The woman had no idea about the powers Willow had inherited from him, so she had gotten no formal training. Two weeks a year was nowhere close to constant supervision. Maybe if he’d pushed harder, Chris could have gotten partial custody, or simply more time with Willow.

Looking at Vin, Chris clearly read the look on the Texan’s face. It said ‘And you’re bringing her to Denver?’.

“I tried to teach her the basics, but only having two weeks a year . . .” he trailed off, and Vin understood. It took months, if not years, to gain understanding and control, especially given the levels of power she’d displayed.

“She doesn’t have a mentor?” asked Vin, not understanding why no one would take the girl in and teach her.

“There was a gypsy, once, but she was killed by a vampire shortly after she began to teach Willow. The only other candidate was a British Watcher, and from what Willow has said, he kept trying to dissuade her from magic.” The tone of voice conveyed exactly what he though of the man and his ideas.

“That level of power didn’t emerge overnight.” Vin commented.

“No. It’s been building up for some time.” Chris explained. Ever since the plane had taken off, he’d been in contact with Willow through the link he’d forged between them when her powers had just begun to emerge. She’d been telling him about the last few months of her life, and the rage was still boiling within. The idiots could have killed her. “Her powers began to fully emerge after the gypsy’s death. I remember being that age, and the hormones had nothing on the magic surging through my blood, trying to find release.”

“So this was her ‘big bang’?”

“Yeah. Her friends convinced her she was addicted to dark magic, and made her give it up.”

“Ain’t that kinda dangerous?” Vin asked. He knew that black magic could be addictive, but didn’t think that was what had happened. Chris wasn’t like other magic users. He didn’t harness the magical energy around him, which was either black or white, positive or negative. Instead, the blonde seemed to tap into the Earth’s energy, which wasn’t good or bad, simply . . . natural. Vin figured Willow would be the same way.

“Extremely.”

He’d explained all this to Willow, saying that Rack had only been ‘releasing the pressure’, so to speak. She was not addicted to black magic, her body just needed the release of energy build-up. But it still acted the same way.

“So that’s what made her pop?” referring to the reason behind the trip.

“Partly. Her lover was hit with a stray bullet, after they got back together. Died instantly.”

That’s when Vin understood. The daughter had followed in the father’s footsteps, though unintentionally.

“She gonna be dressed in black and glowering at everyone, too?” Vin joked, drawing a slight smile from the other man.

“Worse. Babble and Resolve Face.”

“Goddess help us all.”


	7. Reunification Day

“You’re kinda quiet, Wills.” Buffy commented, drawing Willow out of her thoughts. The entire group had been unnaturally silent since arriving at the airport.

“Just thinking.” the witch replied, silently asking herself if she should attempt to be the old Willow, so her friends would stop looking at her like she was possessed. But Tara was dead. She was allowed to mourn without having to put up a brave front.

“Don’t worry about England, Wills.” Buffy tried to comfort, though she wasn’t too sure how she was doing. At least Willow wasn’t crying anymore, which was a slight improvement. “You’ll see. A few months with the English witches, and you’ll be fixed right up.”

There it was again. The implication that she was sick, and the coven would cure her. But she wasn’t sick. There was nothing wrong with her, her father said so. She was grief-stricken, not broken, and said as much to the Slayer.

“Will - I didn’t mean-“

“I know.” she sighed in apology. “You all seem to think that I’ll come back from England the same old Willow. But I’ll never be her again, Buffy. Too much has happened over the last months.”

The Slayer had no response to that, and looked to Giles and Xander for help. So much had changed in the past year, and she didn’t want to have to deal with more things changing. Buffy didn’t know if she could.

“Well, I like you however you want to be.” proclaimed Dawn, tightening her hold on Willow’s hand. The instant Willow had sat down in the uncomfortable airport seat, Dawn was by her side. They could all tell she was still upset by Tara’s death, traumatized by the time she’d spent in the bedroom with the blonde witch’s body.

“Thanks, Dawny.” Squeezing back in appreciation.

“I still don’t understand why I’m here!”

This from Anya. The vengeance demon had been complaining since being forced to accompany the group to the airport.

“In case anyone tries to come after Willow, you can take her somewhere safe.” replied Giles for what seemed like the hundredth time, closing his eyes in annoyance.

“She can blast anyone that comes within two feet of her, or disappear on her own!” Anya pointed out.

“Until Willow learns to control her magic, I do not want her attempting any spells.” replied the Watcher, cleaning his glasses - again. Willow didn’t understand how they were still in one piece after being polished so many times in the last twenty-four hours.

“Seems to me, that’s what got her into this mess in the first place!” Anya accused him.

“Guys, please stop! I-“ Willow started, but cut off as she felt his presence. Her father was finally here. “I have to go now.” cursing the nervous trembling in her voice as she rose. Swinging her brown leather back pack over her shoulder, the witch looked at her confused friends. “I’m not going to England, Giles.” she explained.

“You cannot remain in Sunnydale.” Giles argued.

“I’m not staying in Sunnydale, either.” Biting her bottom lip in nervous anticipation. “I’ll be safe, Giles.” she cut off the older man as he opened his mouth to protest.

“Willow? What’s-“ the Slayer began to question as she rose from her seat, to attempt to convince Willow to stay with Giles.

Willow focussed her gaze on Buffy just as a heavy wave of magic washed over her, and froze the Slayer halfway out of her chair. Startled, Willow looked around her to see Giles and her friends frozen in place, as was the rest of the terminal. She turned around, searching for the source of the spell, preparing to defend herself, when she spotted him.

Sandy blonde hair topped an all-black ensemble, right down to the cowboy boots he wore. The tall, slim build was standing with his arms and legs braced apart, seemingly against the tide of magic coming from him. The inky blackness that consumed his eyes whole, had sent shivers down the spines of any who had seen the eerie sight.

Except for one red headed witch who welcomed the sight with a watery smile.

“What the hell is going on?” demanded and angry voice that belonged to an irrate vengeance demon.

Quickly glancing around the terminal, Willow noticed a few others that weren’t frozen, like Anya.

Turning to face the approaching figure, Willow’s furrowed brow asked its own question.

“Demons.” he said, as if that explained everything, but realizing it didn’t when she rolled her eyes at his statement of the obvious - to her, at least. “They understand what type of Sanctuary Denver is, and will pass along the knowledge that you are protected. Blood of my blood.” The last bit was said louder, while his black eyes raked over the demons now standing frozen in terror, save for the frantically bobbing heads. They all knew who this black-clad witch was, and would do anything to stay out of his way and that of those he called his own.

Anya knew who he was, too. Even years as a human hadn’t affected her contacts in the demon community.

Chris Larabee, called ‘Death’ by vampires everywhere, though most demons referred to him as the ‘Guardian’. On his own he had formed a formidable magical barrier around Denver, which had only strengthened and grown with the addition of six other mages - though only the suicidal called them a coven.

“Get away from him, Willow.” Anya whispered harshly. She knew how dangerous this male witch was, and was surprised that Willow didn’t. When the red headed witch didn’t move, Anya tried to push her point, all the while praying that Larabee didn’t incinerate her for interfering. “Do you know who that is?” she asked, trying to warn with her tone alone.

“Yeeees . . .” She drew out the word, as if unsure of Anya’s comprehension of the answer.

“He’s dangerous.”

“Not to me.” Willow answered, and Chris had to smile at the complete trust she had in him. She was one of a small handful of people who trusted him completely and unconditionally.

“There a problem, cowboy?” inquired a voice that was born and bred in Texas. “Edwards’ gettin’ itchy, stayin’ in this place.”

“Take Willow. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Bounty hunter!!” exclaimed Anya, as if that revelation made her argument that much more solid.

“Vin.” Chris explained at Willow’s questioning look.

Surprised, Willow looked at the denim and leather clad bounty hunter. This was the only other person who had been able to put a smile on her father’s face after Sarah and Adam had died.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” said Willow, producing another watery smile that she knew didn’t come off right.

“Go with him.” urged Chris, his black eyes not leaving the trembling - yet determined - demon. “Don’t worry, everything will still be standing after.” he reassured her when she didn’t move.

“Just wants to have a lil’ talk with your friends, darlin’.” added Vin, pleased when she gave a little nod and let him lead her outside to the waiting plane.

Once he was sure they were safely out of the building, Chris released the spell holding Willow’s friends in place, but kept the rest of the humans frozen. The demons had made for the exit the instant his attention was off them.

“-going on?” the first words out of Buffy’s mouth, finishing her sentence. “Willow?” she called looking for her friend.

The others were similarly confused, as from their perspectives the witch had seemingly disappeared into thin air. It was then that they noticed the relative stillness of the airport terminal, as well as the man that seemed to be in a stand-off with the newly reconfirmed vengeance demon.

“You care about her.” contemplated Anya, her brow furrowing as she ignored the demanding questions of the Scoobies. She was contemplating this new development - the Boogeyman of the demon world cared about Willow. And the witch apparently knew and trusted the man enough to willingly leave with a bounty hunter. “You’ll protect her?”

“We all will.” Chris vowed.

Seeing her nod of acceptance at that, Chris turned to the people who, up until now, had made up most of Willow’s world, narrowing his eyes at them.

Silence reigned as they looked at the all-to-familiar eyes.

“Seeing as you’re Willow’s friends, and she’d be very upset if you became smears on the floor, I’ll say this once. Stay away from Willow.” he warned through clenched teeth, trying desperately to quell his homicidal impulses toward these people. “Don’t try to find her. Don’t try to contact her. When she’s ready to see you, she’ll let you know.”

Not waiting for any form of acknowledgement, he turned to Anya, who had relaxed slightly with his attention diverted elsewhere. “Explain to them.” he told her, motioning in the Scoobies direction before vanishing in the blink of an eye.

“Anya, what the hell happened? Where’s Willow?” demanded Buffy, moving to confront the still-stunned demon, barely noticing the return of normal activity in the terminal.

“She’s gone.”

“You let someone take her?!” demanded an outraged Xander, unable to comprehend what was going on.

“I didn’t ‘let’ anyone take her - she left of her own free will and I couldn’t stop her.” Anya defended harshly. “Besides, you don’t tell Chris Larabee ‘no’!”

“Th-that was Larabee?” stuttered a stunned Giles, looking paler by the second, though it was hard to tell under the harsh fluorescent lights.

At Anya’s nod, Giles uttered the only words to inspire fear in the hearts of the Slayer and her friends.

“Oh, dear!”


	8. Higher Planes

  
“So . . . you’re a bounty hunter?” Willow asked conversationally, trying to break the awkward silence between her and Vin as they waited for her father. “How’s that working for you? I mean, I didn’t think a lot of dangerous demons would come to Denver, because - Hello! - Sanctuary!”

A slight quirk of an eyebrow and minuscule pull in the corner of his mouth were the only signs of Vin’s amusement as he gained his first real impression of his best friend’s daughter.

Willow, however, saw none of this and took his silence as condemnation of some sort.

“Am-am I not suppose to mention that it’s a Sanctuary?” Willow asked him beseechingly, green eyes wide. “Is it some sort of big, fat, supernatural ‘no-no’?”

Vin opened his mouth to answer her, a questioning furrow to his brow, but was cut off before a single word could be formed.

“Because if it is, I’m _really_ sorry. I don’t know much about the whole ‘demons are our friends’ thing because most of the demons I see, we kill - or rather, Buffy kills and the rest of us cheer on from the side.”

Vin’s eyes widened slightly at this, which Willow took notice of.

“Not for being demons!” she hastily added. “Because they try to take over the planet or open the Hellmouth or try to sacrifice people to some evil that’s evil-er than they are. Though I guess this time, I was the ‘big bad’ that was trying to end the world.”

Hey eyes began to fill up as she continued on.

“I didn’t mean to - really. I just felt so much pain and sadness from everybody on the planet, that I just wanted it to stop for them, and then maybe I would be able to stop feeling like I was empty inside without her.”

And the tears began to fall as a horrified Texas bounty hunter found himself way out of his depth.

Vin had no idea how to deal with the sobbing red head, panic settling quickly in his chest as he frantically prayed for Chris to hurry up.

The babbling had him stunned, but the sobbing had him terrified.

The goddess was apparently listening to desperate pleas that morning, because Chris was suddenly there.

Taking in the situation immediately, Chris would have laughed at his friend’s petrified expression, but instead decided to send him to the cockpit to tell Edwards to take off.

Barely noticing Tanner’s hasty departure, Chris settled himself next to the red head, where she’d crumpled when the crying had started again. Wrapping her in his arms, Chris gave her the comfort they’d both been desperate for.

They remained wrapped in each other until the plane levelled off some time after takeoff - Vin having the sense to stay up front with the pilot.

Chris gently moved his now silent bundle to one of the short couches, holding tightly all the while.

“I missed you.” he whispered into her hair, tightening his told on her slightly.

“I missed you, too, Dad.” Willow replied, a small smile in her voice. She’d missed his all-black wardrobe, his mock-glares when he tried to be annoyed with her, his irritation when she named his animals, but mostly she’d missed the safety and comfort and feeling of belonging and love she felt in his arms.

Her father gave the best hugs.

“What happened to your shields?” he asked her after a moment. The question had been rattling around his brain ever since the plane had landed in Sunnydale. The second he’d stepped off the plane, he’d felt her untethered magic. The shields he’d taught her to build years ago had been completely shattered.

“When I absorbed the magic books at the Magic Box, they just sort of went ‘pop’.” she explained hesitantly, unsure of what he would say. “I’ve tried to get them back up, but I can’t . . . I can’t remember how.” Willow finished whisper-soft, with a tremble in her voice.

“Are-are you mad at me?” she asked after a moment, lifting hesitant eyes to her father’s.

“No.” he sighed. “I’m angry at myself. I should have spent more time training you in the basics, instead of leaving it to a stranger who had no idea of your potential.”

“Why did you?”

“We had so little time together, especially once your powers started to emerge, that I wanted to spend time with you. I wanted to be your father first, and your teacher second.”

A beautiful smile was his reply.

“When we get to the Ranch, I’ll give you a crash course in shielding - you’re a quick study, so it shouldn’t take long.”

Another smile at the pride she heard in his voice.

“Until then, just open our connection and I’ll shield you until then.”

Doing as she was told, Willow felt him erect barriers around her powers, containing the powerful magic from random escapes.

And for the first time in days, Willow fell into a dreamless sleep, safe in the arms of her father.


	9. Revelations of Vengeance

“Giles, who’s this Larabee person? Why are both you and Anya so scared of him?”

“And why’d you let Wills go with him, Anya?”

“We’ve been quiet and patient since we left the airport and our best friend in some dark, wiggy guy’s hands. You’ve had your glass of ‘brain-number’, now answer our questions!”

“In point of fact, you lot have been neither patient _nor_ silent since we left the airport.” Giles snapped, putting down his empty glass rather forcefully. “And if Willow left of her own free will-“ Anya nodded emphatically “-then there is nothing we can do.”

“Who is this guy, Giles?” asked Buffy, still not accepting any of the current situation.

“Simply put, Chris Larabee is Death.” began the former Watcher. “He is the most powerful magic user ever recorded, and has surrounded himself with others like him - dark and dangerous.”

“He’s into black magic?” asked Dawn, trembling slightly at the thought of Willow in his hands.

“Very heavily.” responded Giles.

“Then we have to get her out of there!” proclaimed Buffy, seconded by Xander and Dawn.

Anya, however, looked less than impressed.

“Where the hell did you get your information from? The cover of an Anne Rice novel?” the vengeance demon demanded. “Or do you make it up as you go along? No wonder the Watcher’s Council is in decline.” The last mumbled under her breath.

“I beg your pardon!” exclaimed an affronted Watcher.

“You Watcher’s spend so much time focussing on vampires that you have no idea what goes on in demon circles.”

“What is that suppose to mean!?” demanded Giles.

“It means ‘of course’ the vampire community sees him as evil incarnate - he decimated one of their oldest clans!” Anya was just beginning a good rant. She might be more scared of Larabee than D’Hoffryn on a really bad day, but he’d been good to the demon community, a group she was again a part of.

“He may be dark, glowery, bad-tempered and have dabbled in black magic a time or two, but if that makes him the ‘devil made flesh’ then sign black-haired, evil Willow up, too!”

“Anya-“

“Chris Larabee may be considered ‘Death’ by vampires, but most demons, and quite a few humans, call him ‘the Guardian’. He literally holds the future of the entire demon world in the palm of his hand.” the vengeance demon finished.

“But still, his unprovoked attack-“ argued Giles, only to be cut off again.

“‘Unprovoked’ my ass!”

“Anya . . .” Xander tried to interrupt. It was the first word spoken by any of the young people, too stunned watching the argument escalate between the Watcher and the blonde demon.

“Tell me you didn’t want to dust every vampire in this town when Angelus killed Jenny Calendar!” she challenged him.

All movement in the room stopped at that.

No one had brought up the deceased gypsy in a long while, knowing how much Giles still grieved for the woman.

“Chris Larabee lost his wife and young son to a deliberate and brutal vampire attack, and in retaliation massacred most of the vampires in his town. A few years later, when he found out it was all due to an obsessed Master vampire who hadn’t wanted any competition for his affections, he hunted and killed every minion and childe of the Order of Olavia.”

“Is that what happened to them?” Giles murmured speculatively. The mystery behind the disappearance of the clan had the Council confounded.

“Is he dangerous?” asked Dawn, speaking up. “To Willow, I mean.”

“He’s claimed her as blood.” Anya explained. “No one will dare go after her, because if she doesn’t blast them into the next dimension, Larabee and his men will make them wish she had.”

“A-and the demon community accepts him?” asked Giles, his mind still not processing that fact.

“Yes.” answered Anya, as if it were the simplest of questions, but went on to explain. “When he finally pulled himself out of his grief, he decided no one else would suffer as he had, and put wards like no ones business around the city. Vampires are exclusively banned, and anyone who tries to pass through them, comes under the watchful eye of Larabee and his men. The city is treated like humans would treat a church, with powerful magic users as the bouncers.”

“How would that-“

“Don’t you see, Giles? We can live regular lives, without the fear of humans hunting us. Chris Larabee created a safe haven where demons can make lives for themselves in the human world, without the fear of discovery.”

“Does it work?” asked Dawn, curious as to the place Willow would be living for the next few months.

“Yes. Most of the clans and tribes have declared it a Sanctuary, the wards and his presence simply reinforce it. It is the only thing that has ever united the demon population.”

“I still don’t like-“

“You can ‘not like it’ all you want.” Anya interrupted the Slayer. “It won’t change the fact that if you violate Sanctuary in some brain-fried attempt to bring Willow back to where ‘you’ think she should be, every demon species will be out for your blood! Slayer be damned!”

“Is there some rule banning Slayers from Sanctuary?” asked Giles, never having heard of that particular amendment.

“It’s more of an unwritten rule; an implication.” answered the blonde demon. “In this particular case, Buffy would need permission to enter the city.”

“Permission? Why wou-“

“And even if Larabee, and the various heads of the demon clans did allow her in, she wouldn’t be able to go more than two feet before she has a death sentence on her head because she violated Sanctuary!”

“I wouldn’t violate Sanctuary - whatever that it . . .” defended Buffy.

“Right! Because you have such good impulse control when it comes to your violent tendencies.” taunted Anya, though a part of her would love to see the Slayer in Denver. She hadn’t seen a decent blood hunt in more than two centuries.

“I don’t have impulse control problems!”

The look Anya sent the blonde Slayer clearly conveyed her disbelief. Not that Anya could blame her - the Slayer was made to kill ‘what goes bump in the night’, and Buffy did her job very well. However, Denver was a city ful of such creatures, where following her instincts would get her killed.

“Just let Willow do what she needs to do.” Anya told them. “Besides, Sanctuary means you can’t force Willow to leave against her will.”

“But what if this Larabee guy tries to hurt Willow?” asked Xander, his concern still for his friend who had lost so much already.

“He wouldn’t have extended his protection if he intended to hurt her. Besides, once inside the wards, the rules apply to him, too.”

With that, Anya decided her time was up. If they wouldn’t let Willow recover in peace after all she’d said, nothing would get them to leave it alone - except maybe Larabee in a rage.

As she was walking out the door in search of her own brand of vengeance, Giles’ voice paused her exit.

“You never mentioned the name of the city.”

Smirking in smug satisfaction, Anya ignored him, closing the door quietly behind her.

That’s right. She hadn’t.


	10. Jasmine Scented Love

It was a breathtaking view - anyone would agree.

The glowing sun peeking out from behind the distant mountains reflected off the last of the morning dew, making the grass sparkle. A light mist remained in the air, bringing with it the scent of morning freshness. The horses in the barn had already been taken care of for the day, and were let loose to graze in the corral, their sounds of contentment carrying up to the nearby house.

Looking out the kitchen window at the back of the sprawling ranch house, Chris Larabee saw none of this. His dark green eyes took in the lone red head slouched in her customary lounge chair on the large deck that took up the majority of the yard. Her hands cradled around a steaming cup of hot chocolate for warmth, she stared off into the distance, no focus to her gaze.

Sighing in sympathy at the pain he knew she was in - and would carry for the rest of her life - Chris wondered whether he should push the issue, or let her mourn in relative peace.

Willow had been with him for over a week, and had yet to show interest in much of anything. She would have starved to death already if he hadn’t been forcing her to eat three times a day. Even now, the mug of hot chocolate wouldn’t pass her lips, yet she made cup after cup.

He wanted to give her the time she needed, to soften the loss of Tara and deal with what had happened in her dark period of grief, but he had a strong suspicion that she wasn’t doing either. Chris was almost certain that she was wallowing in the memory and loss of the one she loved.

He knew, because he’d done the same thing, until a little red headed brat had come and dragged him kicking and screaming back into the world.

Now it was his chance to return the favour.

He’d thought he’d accomplished it when he’d badgered her out of her room four days previously. Not long after they’d arrived from Sunnydale, the red head had holed up in her room, not even coming out for food. Only the sounds of her quiet sobbing letting him know she was still there. He’d tried to be patient and understanding, qualities most that knew him would say he lacked, but four days ago he’d reached the end of what little patience he had.

Looking at her now, he sighed again and wondered whether this vacant stare into space was any better. Occasionally a few silent tears would find their way down her cheeks, but other than that - nothing.

Feeling movement along his pant leg, the blonde looked down. Annoyance flared as he watched Willow’s cat rub more of her fur onto his black pants - as if there wasn’t enough of it already decorating his house. Between the cat and his dog, Barney, Chris wondered if there was any furniture under all the pet hair. Barney, at least, had learned to stay out of certain areas of the house.

Seeing the feline continuously twine herself around his legs, depositing more light coloured fur with every pass, Chris glared. A full-blown, lethal dosage of the Larabee glare.

Which Miss Kitty studiously ignored.

“Better watch it, Cat.” he warned the animal. “Or I’ll let Barney use you as a chew toy.”

The dark husky had taken an instant dislike to the feline - a case of two alphas for one pack. It was only due to the tight control Chris had over the dog that saved the cat from serious damage. Though at times Chris wished he’d let the dog take a piece out of the furball, just to put her in her place.

In response to his threat, Miss Kitty held her head high and flicked her tail as she made her way out to Willow’s side through the open patio door.

With one more glance at the sombre red head, Chris’ decision was made. He would help her move past this point, like she had done for him.

Turning from the window, he left to make some preparations.

  


* * *

  


  
Two hours later, Chris silently congratulated himself. After gathering some items from the house, he’d saddled the horses and gone to retrieve his daughter. Neither had said a word as he took her hand and led her to the barn.

A small smile had curved her lips as she renewed her acquaintance with her chocolate and white horse - Cookie Crumble.

Remembering Willow’s smile had evaporated any annoyance he held in regards to the animal’s name.

“Why are we here?” asked Willow curiously, looking around the clearing they had stopped at. They were the first words she’d spoken in longer than he cared to remember.

Following her gaze around the hidden glen, Chris had no trouble deciphering what was going through her mind. She’d only been here once before, but knew that this was his special place. This was where he came to remember Sarah and Adam - a place not even Buck knew about.

Memories of the past filled Chris’ head; specific moments in his past that were inextricably linked to this place.

He remembered saying ‘I love you’ to a petite blonde he’d only known a few weeks. Later, proposing to the same woman after a candlelight picnic. He remembered the same woman all but ordering him to find the child of his out there somewhere, saying that she would adore him or her simply because they were a part of Chris. A thousand moments of his small family spending time playing and laughing in the sun in this same clearing.

There were so many happy memories for him, that this was where he’d brought Willow when they’d spread his family’s ashes - all that was left after the explosive fire.

Without saying a word, Chris dismounted, reached into his saddle bags, and pulled out a rather plain-looking clay pot. Motioning for her to follow him, Chris moved toward the large patch of wild-flowers that bloomed without fail every year.

Hearing her come to a stop beside him, Chris turned to her, holding out the jar.

“It’s time to let her rest.” he said quietly, repeating her own words back to her, from the only other time she’d been to the glen.

_’You need to let them rest.’ Fifteen-year-old Willow told her bleary-eyed father, not totally convinced that he was even remotely sober. It had been an indescribable battle to get him out here in the first place, and he still seemed determined to hold out until the bitter end. ‘Clinging so tightly to their memories will slowly destroy your own life.’_

_‘What if that’s what I want?!’ he rasped angrily back, his voice as rough as his unshaven face. They both knew he wasn’t really mad at her, but her presence gave his anger and loss something to focus on. ‘They were my everything - my world. Now, I have nothing.’_

_‘You have me.’ she said quietly after a moment, and even through the alcohol and anger, the father inside him heard the underlying question of her worth to him. His anger deflating even as his shoulders slumped in place._

_‘Yes.’ he replied softly, looking at the future of his family, finding something worth living for, once he started looking. ‘I do.’_

_The daughter he loved beyond reason._

“I don’t know if I can.” Willow told him, tears beginning to fill her eyes. “I have this gaping hole where my heart used to be, but at the same time my chest feels tight - constricted - like it’s about to burst.”

“You can’t hole-up in your memories, shutting the world out.” he told her gently. “Tara wouldn’t have wanted that.”

Tears began to silently fall down her face at the truth behind his words. Tara wouldn’t have wanted her to grieve to the point of self-destruction.

“What if I can’t do it?” she asked, still not facing Chris and the offering he held out. “What if I’m not strong enough to go on alone?”

“No one said you had to do this alone.” he told her, finally becoming the focus of her teary gaze. “Let her spirit rest. She’ll always live on in your memories. You need to cherish them, not exist in them.”

Holding the jar further toward her, Chris willed her to take it with every part of his being.

“Is that . . . her?” Willow asked shakily, motioning to the clay jar he still held at arms length.

“I called the Sunnydale morgue and found they’d already cremated her body, so I had them send it here.” he explained, conveniently not mentioning that he’d used some magic in the endeavour. He justified it by arguing that it was the only way to get the witch’s remains sent to a non-relative, without any paperwork or other stumbling blocks.

“Tara would have loved this place.” she commented, finally taking the container that held what remained of her lover into trembling hands. She absently noted that it was the same handmade urn that had held Sarah and Adam more than seven years ago. “Will they mind? Sharing this place, I mean?”

“I think they’ll love the company.” Chris answered truthfully.

The breeze picked up, as if the ghosts that resided there answered on their own. The faint scent of jasmine wafted across her senses, and Willow felt as if Sarah herself had bestowed her blessing.

Smiling softly, Willow moved a few paces toward the centre of the glen, clay jar clasped firmly against her chest.

“I will always love you.” Willow began, speaking into the air, where hopefully Tara’s spirit resided and listened. “You saw parts of me that no one ever has before, and loved me even more because of them. I will always keep you in my heart, even though I lost a big part of it when you - you left.”

“I still can’t say it, because it doesn’t seem real at times. I keep expecting to wake up next to you, finding out that this was all a horrible dream. But it ‘s not a dream, and I need to let go of that. I miss you with every beat of my heart, and I will for a long time to come. I know I can’t hold on to you forever, but I will love you for as long as my soul exists. Good-bye my love.”

“Oh, and take good care of Sarah and Adam. We both still miss them very much, and I’m sure you’ll get along really well.”

With that, Willow opened the earthen pot and allowed the sudden breeze to catch Tara’s ashes as they fell, spreading them around the tranquil clearing. There truly was something mystical about this glen, as the jasmine scented breeze spread the ash to the boundaries of the clearing, and no further.

With a few final tears, Willow turned and went back to her horse. She needed time to absorb what had just happened, and begin making plans for the future. A great weight had been lifted off her shoulders, but the ache still remained in her head and in her heart.

Chris watched her go, his own heart lightening a little. He’d known exactly what she was going through, especially when it came to the strength of her emotions. Willow was very much like him, in that they both felt everything very deeply. It was a trait that remained in their family since the early days - when they fell in love, it was fast and hard. The loss of a loved one hit even harder, and more than a few of his ancestors hadn’t survived it.

“Take good care of her.” Chris whispered into the wind. “I love you both.”

Turning, the blonde man made his way to his daughter and the horses, all the while mentally making plans for the next few days.

He would start her formal training tomorrow, but first there was a task that needed to be done that day.

He needed to take his daughter shopping. She’d been living in what was left in her room, but clothes that worked when she was fourteen wouldn’t work long term.

As he mentally racked up everything she would need, Chris silently groaned. A full day of shopping loomed in his future. Memories of hauling Adam around behind him, as he followed Sarah and Willow from store to store filled his mind.

But he would endure it all, just to see his not-so-little girl smile.


	11. Justifiable Homicide

“But I don’t _need_ all of this!” Willow stated for the dozenth time, trying to make her father see reason.

Chris closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten in his head.

Then twenty.

They’d had this same argument in every store. Willow didn’t see why she needed a whole new wardrobe, which Chris insisted he buy since she’d only brought the clothes on her back to Denver.

He silently wondered where she’d gotten this stubborn streak from, before deciding it must have come from her mother.

“I have a whole closet full of clothes at the Ranch.” she argued - again.

“Which have been there since you were fifteen.” Chris replied back - again.

Turning to the sales associate, he ignored the slight twitch in her lips as he told her to wrap everything up, overriding the red head’s protests. This was the sixth store they’d been to, and in every one the sales people had given him the same amused look as he argued with his daughter.

His bad-ass reputation would be in ruins by nightfall. But it was well worth it just to see the fire back in Willow’s eyes.

“You’re unbelievable!” Willow exclaimed, annoyed that he was completely ignoring her objections. Noting the small smile on the sales lady’s face as she packed up and rang in the clothes, Willow refused to become angry with her when it was clearly all her father’s fault. This was a well-established pattern for the day - her arguments and wishes being ridden over by Chris and the sales staff of whatever store they happen to be in. After catching sight of a flicking tail from underneath the skirt of a sales girl in the third store, Willow realized she wouldn’t be getting any help on that front - not against ‘Chris Larabee, Guardian of the _flipping_ Demon Community’.

“I just want you to have an appropriate wardrobe for any occasion.” he told her.

“Appropriate for what?” she demanded as he grabbed the bags of even more clothes. “Mucking out the barn and sitting on a rock watching grass grow doesn’t need anything more than jeans and a t-shirt.”

“Sitting and what?!” he demanded, trying to sort out what she was saying - not always an easy endeavour.

“You know - meditating.” she explained as they finally left the store.

“I don’t meditate!”

“Well maybe you should!”

Gritting his teeth, Chris refused the urge to glare, knowing it had no effect on her.

“Are we done yet?” she asked after a few moments of silence. While she loved to spend time with him, this expedition rated right up there with gouging her eyes out with a toothpick.

“One more stop after we drop these in the truck.” Chris replied, ignoring the red head’s sounds of exasperation.

Some time later, Chris felt a smile pull at his lips. Willow’s face as she looked around the restaurant was everything he could have hoped for. Her eyes had yet to stop moving, as she tried to take in everything at once.

He’d brought her to lunch at ‘The Other Side’, a cafe/restaurant/bar whose clientele consisted mainly of demons and supernatural humans. It was a main gathering place for those of non-human origin.

Chris remembered how her irritation had steadily fled as they passed from room to room, each designed with a specific theme or atmosphere in mind. From the standard café look that comprised the front room to the humidity and darkness that was reminiscent of the Kashik’s hibernation nest, it was truly a meeting of worlds. He’d taken her around the long way, hoping that she’d see what he saw every time he came here. That this was where worlds truly met. He had a long range plan in mind, and this was only the first step.

She was currently trying to look like she was not staring at the Chaos demon having a nice dinner with a Koresh demon. Chris could understand where the fascination lay, as the two species were at different ends of the spectrum. The Chaos demon, while quite distinguishable with his antlers and slime, acted almost human and civil in every aspect of life, while the big, broad shouldered Koresh demon only vaguely looked anything resembling human with his red and green arm and back spikes - not to mention being nocturnal in nature. Even their environments were vastly different, the Koresh tribes preferring to roam the jungles, while Chaos demons preferred the solitary life, bumming from town to town in the more moderate climates which wouldn’t cause their pores to secrete even more mucus. The fact that they were perfectly comfortable in what JD had termed the Rock Room - so named due to everything being made of stone - said more than anything.

“Corbin and Sid.” Chris said softly in her ear, jerking the red head out of her deep observations.

“Huh?”

“Corbin’s the Koresh demon - an old friend of Vin’s, and Sid is the Chaos demon.” he explained, motioning to the couple that had held her interest so intently. “They’ve been together for almost two years.”

“Togethe - Oh.” Willow blushed as she realized what he meant.

“It’s very - odd.” she said after a moment, attempting to turn his attention off her red face.

“Maybe, but they fit somehow.” he told her. “They won’t be the only ‘odd’ pairing you’ll see.”

“What?”“ he asked her as she tilted her red head to the side, as if contemplating something of the utmost importance, her nose scrunching as she tried to figure out the answer.

“How do they . . . you know?” she asked blushing, just before her eyes widened and a horrified look came across her face. “Actually, I don’t think I really want to know!” came her hasty declaration.

Chris just laughed out loud as even more blood rushed to her face.

“So - when do we get to order around here?” she asked, deliberately trying to change the topic.

“I already did. You were too busy ogling the love birds to notice, but the waitress did stop by.”

“But-“

“Don’t worry, I ordered for you.”

“If you ordered off the children’s menu again, I’m gonna have to hurt you.” she said in a semi-cheerful voice, making her threat all the more serious.

Before either of them could open the can of worms that was the Shrimp Shack incident, a familiar, boisterous voice caught their attention.

“Chris, old dawg!” greeted Buck as he strode across the stone floor, a green-eyed Southerner in his wake.

“Buck. Ezra.” Chris returned steadily.

“And Miss Willow of the Red Hair.” the big man greeted Willow almost formally as he slid next to her on the stone bench.

“Hello Buck.” she replied carefully, holding herself very still. He’d always made her feel mildly uncomfortable, mostly due to his size and fondness of showing his emotions physically. For Willow, who grew up with very few affectionate touches from her parents or friends - namely Xander - Buck’s need to always be touching those he felt affection for, disconcerted her.

Noticing her discomfort, Ezra decided a timely distraction was needed, more specifically in the form of himself.

“Ezra Standish, at your service.” he greeted, holding out a hand for hers. “Mr. Wilmington, with his total lack of acceptable manners has failed to introduce us properly, Miss-?”

“Oh! Just call me Willow.” she answered, a bright smile on her face as she placed her small hand in his, ignoring Buck’s indignant sputtering. “And his manners aren’t any better.” she told him, tossing her head in Chris’ direction. “They probably both got them at the same cut-rate store - I’d demand a refund if I were them.”

Ezra merely raised an eyebrow in the blonde’s direction. Not many could completely ignore Larabee when he chose to level the full force of his glare on them, but this young woman was doing an admirable job of it.

“She’s family.” Chris said in response to Ezra’s questioning glance, which to the Southerner explained a great deal.

“You’ve got some nerve there, little girl.” commented Buck, smiling in spite of the insults he’d just been delivered. Willow had the same way with Chris that Sarah had, deliberately risking the blonde’s legendary wrath, but with the supreme confidence that the most he would do would be to grumble and bitch for awhile.

“Pfft.” was her comment, waving it off with a weak wave. “The way he’s been completely ignoring my wishes all day, he’s lucky if that’s all I do.”

“Mr. Larabee.” chided Ezra. “What could have possibly possessed you to ignore such a lovely creature as Miss Willow?”

“She didn’t have to argue over every single purchase.” replied Chris.

“You didn’t have to buy out half of Denver, either!” was Willow’s response.

“Miss Willow, am I to understand that you were attempting to decline items purchased for you by Mr Larabee?” asked Ezra, looking pale and shaken at the thought of turning down free gifts.

“I don’t need all those clothes.” she told him, before turning to Buck, hoping for an ally. “I don’t know how we’re both going to fit inside the truck to get home. It’s completely filled with bags from half the clothing stores in Denver. I already have a closet full of them back home.”

A decidedly male-type squeak turned her attention back to the dark haired Southerner, who was in too much shock to even attempt to hide the horror gloriously displayed on his usually well-schooled face.

“Which have all been there since you were fifteen.” argued Chris - again. He was getting tired of this same argument between them, and the other males at the table knew it. “You’ve gotten bigger since then.”

He immediately knew he’d doomed himself, when her eyes narrowed and her entire body stilled, as she readied herself to pounce on the wounded prey.

“Bigger? How?” she asked in a dangerous voice that Chris had learned early on from Sarah meant that something very bad was about to hit the fan he was standing under.

The other males at the table froze, as they too recognized the situation - the ‘no-win’ situation that Chris had just stumbled into. Buck tried to be the loyal friend he was and help Chris out, but a feminine “Back off, Buck.” halted any further attempts.

“I’m still waiting.” Willow commented, eyes never leaving the frozen features of her father. She knew she was being unfair and over-sensitive, but he’d forced her to endure hours of playing dress-up with ‘helpful’ sales girls, and this was her small bit of payback.

As much as Ezra was enjoying watching his leader trying to once again make the lovely red head smile, he decided to help out, as _he_ was just as interested in making her happy again, as well.

“Unfortunately I never had the pleasure of making your acquaintance at the no-doubt precocious age of fifteen, but I would hazard a guess and say that you most certainly have grown in the interim - in all the appropriate areas, I might add.” Ezra put in silkily.

“Yeah, you’ve matured nicely, darling.” added Buck appreciatively, not to be left out by the smooth-talking con man.

Willow looked at Buck, at the man she’d always thought of as her Dad’s best friend - almost an honorary uncle - and said the first thing that came to her mind.

“Ewwww!”

“I agree.” added Chris, glaring harshly at his oldest friend, his gaze promising dire consequences should any idea even remotely like that ever enter his over-sexed head again.

A waitress bearing food luckily chose that moment to deliver their food, effectively diverting Willow from potentially gutting her father, and Chris took it for the blessing that it was.

“What are you boys doing here?” he asked them, effectively changing the subject.

“Mr Wilmington, after being summarily rejected by Ms Recillos this morning, the womanizing swine has come to ply his somewhat dubious charms on the owner of this fine establishment. I, however, am here to recover fiscally from a rather high stakes game of chance, of which I was the winner. In fact . . . Irwin!” Ezra called out as he quickly followed a blue and purple demon that had fled the room at the first sight of him.

“Buck got shot down by Inez and has come to try his luck with Lanka, and Ez is collecting from a bet he won.” Chris summarized when Willow looked to him for a translation. “Though he won’t have much luck, seeing as this is Lanka’s day off.”

“No it ain’t.” returned Buck, a big grin plastered on his face. “Two of her staff quit to go nest in the mountains together, so Lanka’s been working fourteen hour days ever since.”

“Shit!” The only reason he’d brought Willow here today, was because he was under the mistaken impression that the woman in question was elsewhere.

“Am I not suppose to like this Lanka person?” asked Willow between bites.

“Naw, Lanka’s great.” Buck explained, his grin getting bigger each second, if that were possible. “She just bosses Chris around like he’s no one special. She’s the only other person I know of that can look him straight in the glare and kick his ass out the door.” In fact, Buck was almost positive that if there had been even a hint of sexual chemistry between the two, Lanka would have dragged Chris to the altar long ago, with a happy smile on both their faces. “You’ll get along fine.” he reassured Willow.

A strong voice bellowed his name from the other side of the room, and Chris closed his eyes in resignation.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” said Chris under his breath before turning to greet the woman he was sure would make his afternoon as unpleasant as Willow’s morning had been. The woman lived to torment him.

“Hello, Lanka.”

And he resigned himself to making nice with the woman his daughter was already smiling at.

This was going to be a long day.

End Part 11

  
A/N: The single line that inspired the entire shopping scene, but I couldn’t manage to fit it in anywhere - Willow to Chris:  
“You are such a girl!”


	12. Shifting Reality

“Why are we doing this again?” Willow asked as they ambled along an unused trail out back of the ranch. Chris hid a grin at the irritation she made no effort to hide. He'd gotten her up before dawn that morning, so they could finish the chores around the barn and be on their way.

On their way to where, he'd kept silent about.

“It’s easier.” was all he would tell her, just to irritate her that much more. He found himself smiling more and more as the day wore on, as Willow's annoyance and irritation at him rose. If he was being honest with himself, he'd say that the day so far was payback for Willow's behaviour with Lanka the day before.

If he were honest with himself, of course.

“What’s ‘easier’? Where are we going?”

“You’re going to start learning how to control the magic in your blood.” he replied, not adding that it was something he should have done years ago.

“And I’m going to do that riding a horse into the barren wastelands of Colorado?”

“It’s not a barren wasteland.” he retorted. “We’re almost there.”

“And again, where would ‘there’ be?” Willow kept pushing, not satisfied with his answer.

Turning to look at her, his lips twitched in half-hidden amusement. “You’ll see.”

A huff of exasperation escaped her mouth before a medium grade scowl fell across her face. Chris had been picking at her in small increments ever since the ill-fated shopping trip had started. (It had absolutely nothing to do with the open invitation Lanka now had to the ranch – something he'd skillfully avoided in the past.) He knew that on some level Willow understood he was doing it so she could get her mind off her grief over Tara, but she wasn't his daughter for nothing, and wasn't going to sit back and take it.

Not from him. Especially not after yesterday.

He was being deliberately close mouthed and secretive, something he’d never been to her before. In the past, he was always open to her, willing to answer any questions she had - even after Sarah and Adam died.

He saw her open her mouth to give him a trademark Willow-rant, but she stopped with her mouth wide open as a sudden wave of magical energy swept over them both. They had just reached the top of a fairly large hill, that was in actuality a cliff’s edge. The outcropping gave view of the Ranch and all that was attached to it. It was a breath-taking view even without the magic that permeated every rock; the morning mist was still clinging to the hills in the distance. The Ranch itself was in the base of a small valley, surrounded by mountains that sheltered the occupants from most of the world.

“This place has been in our family for generations.” Chris began, both still atop their respective horses. Her gaze was still on the beauty of the land laid out before her as he continued. “One day this will be yours, and you will pass it on to your child.”

The mention of progeny of any form shocked Willow out of her inspection, to look at him in horror.

“Kids?! Since when am I having kids?” she demanded, wide-eyed and panicked. “I'm too young to have kids. I haven't even finished college, yet. I need to get my life in order before I plan a family of any sort, if I even end up wanting one. In fact, a significant other would be nice – gay or straight, it's hard to raise a kid by myself, let alone more than one-”

“Not kids.” Chris interrupted. He dismounted and tied his horse to a nearby tree, hiding his smile when Willow did the same without any real conscious thought. “Child - singular.”

Motioning for her to join him, Chris stood near the edge of the cliff as he began to explain their family history.

“We’re the last in a long line of magic users.” he told her. “Sixteen generations ago, our family was considered the royalty of the magic world. We were the most powerful witches and warlocks around, and the magic always bred true in each generation.”

Willow tore her eyes away from the valley to look at Chris.

“But there are always people who resent and envy the power others have, and this was no different. A witch who was determined to have the magic our family was gifted with, cursed our line to remain barren unless she was given the secret to our powers. Obviously, it didn’t work the way she had intended - traditional magic rarely does when our family is involved - but it was enough to ensure that each descendant will only have one child. No more.”

Glancing to the figure by his side, Chris was not surprised by the wide, disbelieving eyes or shocked look on her face. He remembered when his own grandfather had told him this same story. Remembered the disbelief and shock he’d felt as his entire world rocked beneath his feet.

“You see, what she didn’t know - what nobody outside the family really understands - is that our magic's different. We're not Wicca. We don't harness the natural energies of nature. We don’t need archaic spells or potions to bend the power to our wishes.” he told Willow, turning to face her. “Our magic's in our blood. Our very existence is a natural bridge to the life and energies of the Earth.”

“Huh-wha?”

Chris let a little smile curve his lips at her sudden speechlessness. He could understand her confusion – he'd felt the same way when he'd learned how other magic users accessed and used magic. For him, brewing potions and chanting spells, all to bring the witch or warlock closer to the magical lines that cross the Earth – it was strange and unnatural. He'd spent his entire life connected directly to the Earth, always having those energies available at the tip of his fingers. The natural ley lines others used for their magic was more of a light breeze to him, compared to the currents of untapped magic beneath their feet.

“Look. This'll be easier if I just show you.” he told her, lowering himself to the ground and waiting until she joined him. “Hands on the ground.” he instructed. “Now, close your eyes, and breath in. And out.”

“I thought you didn't meditate.” she interrupted.

“This ain't meditation.” he told her. “Now just do what I tell you.”

Chris decided to ignore her less than complementary grumblings, seeing as she'd followed his instructions.

“Reach down into the earth. Feel the currents of energy. All you need to do to access the magic, is to touch it. Don't worry about controlling it, just let it in you. I'll keep it from taking over.”

As he gently guided her, Chris let his own magic flow in and around him, creating an area of protection around them, for the inevitable overflow. It always happened the first time, and he doubted Willow would be the exception.

Once that was done, he let himself fall into the energy, feeling it pulse through his every cell. With magic aiding his vision, Chris opened his eyes to see Willow, keeping track of her progress.

It was the first time he'd really taken a look at her – at her magical signature - and he almost winced. He wouldn't call the energy lines surrounding her an 'aura' – though Willow probably would – but they were wildly disorganized, a rainbow of colours, and disconnected. Where she should be surrounded by hazy rainbow of vibrant hues, Willow looked more like a badly woven plaid.

It only served to underline how important and crucial this first lesson was.

Because he was watching so closely, he was prepared for what happened next.

“NO!” he called out, sending out a magical hand-slapping as she reached out to the magical lines around her.

“Ow.”

“Reach down, not out.” Chris told her. She needed to tap in to the energies of the planet itself. Once she did that, everything else should even out for her. Willow had to understand the differences between how they connected with magical energies, and how Wicca and other magic users did. It was this difference that was at the core of many of her problems. By connecting directly to the Earth's energies, this give and take of power would settle itself automatically. There wouldn't be any build up in her system, leading to the disaster that was Sunnydale.

He had tried to explain to her before, but words were never his strong suit, especially when it came to magic.

A quiet gasp drew a relieved smile from him, as Willow discovered the treasure trove of magical currents that ebbed and flowed underneath the surface of the planet.

_“Touch it.”_ he instructed after several minutes of inactivity on her part, sending the thought along their bond.

_“But, it's so much. Much more than-”_

And then he knew. There was more magic here than she had ever felt, and was scared of the magic taking her over, like it did in Sunnydale.

_”Trust me. I won't let you go.”_ he told her. _”And trust yourself. You were born to this type of magic. Controlling it is instinctive.”_

Then she reached out, and the world exploded around them.

Magic flowed through Willow, out in to the physical world, only to be trapped by the barrier Chris had erected earlier. It took less than a second before Willow instinctively began to control the energy, pulling it back into herself, directing it back to the earth.

_”Excellent.”_ he told her a few minutes later.

_”It's...I can't...”_ Chris could hear the awe and wonder in her voice, and knew she finally understood.

_”Take your time.”_ he told her.

They didn't have anywhere else to be.

  


* * *

  


  
_Later_

“How is that possible?” Willow asked as they slowly rode back to the ranch. “Why is our magic so different?” Her brow wrinkled as her mind worked through everything she'd just learned.

“I don't know.” he told her truthfully. “My grandfather told me a story, once – more of a family legend, really – about how we are children of the world. About how our ancestor was created from the ground, the earth giving birth to a guardian that would protect it and its people – the beginning of our family.”

At her narrow eyed look of suspicion, Chris smirked in her direction before adding “But the old man was always pulling my leg. Never could tell when he was serious.”

Her huff of annoyance was music to his ears.

“But what you said...about the magic...”

“That part's true.” he assured her. “So's the curse.”

That got her thinking again, Chris noted.

“What if someone dies before they have a child?” Willow asked.

“Then that branch of the family dies.”

“So when you say we're the _last_-”

“I mean, we're one of the last branches of our family still around.” he told her. “Over the generations, each family has tried to keep in touch, but it gets harder every year.”

“There are still branches around, though, right?” Willow asked.

“I think there's one or two in Europe, and another in Canada, but that was years ago. People move, wars happen. If you'd been born twenty years earlier, I doubt I ever would have found you.” Chris said.

“Is that all?” she asked, and Chris couldn't tell if she was disturbed by the extent of their familial loss, the horror of the curse their family had lived with for centuries, or the lack of caring in his own voice as he talked about it.

“I think there might be another branch in the US, but it's hard to get a fix on them. Trying to track a paper trail through a couple of wars and the Depression is hard. And don't even get me started on the 'Free Love' era.” he said, determined not to get in to the whole 'tracking the family' debate. He didn't have the same drive his grandfather had had when it came to searching out distant relatives, and wasn't in the mood to defend himself. Again.

That could wait for another day. Or year.

“But..what about-” Willow began, but Chris could hear the uncertainty in her voice as she stopped herself asking.

“Adam?” she managed to force out, and Chris was just a little bit proud of her for that. “If there's only one child per generation, then...Adam?”

He'd known that this would come up eventually, and even though he thought he'd prepared himself for it, he discovered that the wound in his heart was still not quite healed even after all these years.

“There are other ways to have a child in this day and age.” he said, the roughness of his voice catching even him by surprise. “He may not have been my biological son...” That was all he managed to get out, he had to close his eyes against the overwhelming rush of _angerlosspain_ that threatened to choke him.

He didn't mention the long years he and Sarah had spent trying to have a child. Or the sense of failure he'd felt upon learning that Sarah would never nurture a child of his in her body, because another had already done so. He didn't tell Willow about the arguments they'd had over potential donors before deciding to ask the closest person either of them had to a brother. Chris hadn't ever told Willow about the frantic year, in which he'd divided his time between looking after his pregnant wife, getting ready for the expansion of their family and looking up every girlfriend and one night stand he'd ever had, searching for the child he knew was already out there.

But then, he didn't think he had to. Willow, this beautiful daughter of his, could see all that without being told. It was a trait she'd shared with Sarah, the two of them more like mother and daughter than he'd ever witnessed between Sheila and Willow.

“Adam was a brat.” Willow announced in the sudden silence, making Chris smile.

“He was not.” Chris defended, feeling more at ease with this familiar argument.

“He _was_!” Willow insisted, narrowing her eyes at him. “You just never saw it. You were too busy being proud and smug and charmed by him copying your every move, that you never noticed.”

That drew a genuine smile from him, remembering how he'd caught Adam in the barn, glaring at the animals. _”Practicing, Papa._” And the look on Sarah's face when he'd only wear black clothes to school. _”Like Papa wears._ Or how for every birthday and Christmas after he turned three, he asked for a horse. _”Wanna ride like Papa an' Willow.”_

“He adored you.” he told her, letting himself relax into the fond reminiscing.

“He put a dead bird in my bed.” she announced, as if that sealed the argument in her favour.

“It was a present.” Chris reminded her, holding back his laugh as he remembered both Willow and Sarah screaming from the bedroom, and later, Willow refusing to sleep in the guest bedroom the rest of her visit.

“It. Was. A. Dead. Bird.”

And with that, Willow prodded her horse into a run and headed back to the ranch.

Chris rode back at a leisurely pace, grinning all the way.


End file.
